The Goldsmith's Daughter

Fifteen

The skinny young maid who answered my knock informed me that the mistress had stepped out for a moment or two to visit a sick neighbour, but that she would return before long if I cared to come inside and wait. I accepted the offer, following the girl up a flight of stairs to a parlour on the first floor, a room similar in size and content to that of Master Babcary’s house. On the face of it, there would seem to be little difference between his and Mistress Perle’s respective fortunes.

The maid bade me be seated, but then, instead of leaving to continue with her household chores, she lingered, looking at me with suppressed excitement, plainly desirous of talking to someone.

‘Do you know what today is, sir?’ she asked shyly.

‘The Feast of Saint Sebastian?’ I hazarded.

‘It’s also the Eve of the Feast of Saint Agnes,’ she said, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. ‘They do say that on this night, if you do what you’re told, you’ll dream of your future husband.’ She giggled nervously. ‘I hope he’s as handsome as you.’

‘And what is it that you have to do?’ I enquired, laughing.

‘It’s not a joke, sir,’ she reproved me. ‘Young girls like me do see things in dreams, you know. First of all, I have to fast throughout the day — though that’ll not be easy — and I mustn’t let anyone kiss me, not even a little child. Then tonight, before I go to bed, I have to take a hard-boiled egg, scoop out its yolk and fill the hollow with salt, then eat it, shell and all. After that, I’ve to put on a clean nightgown and walk backwards towards the bed — I can’t turn round and look at it, or the spell will be broken — and I must say this verse.’ She screwed up her face and, with a great effort of memory, recited.

‘Fair Saint Agnes play thy part,

And send to me mine own sweetheart,

Not in his best or worst array,

But in the clothes of every day.’

The sound of the street door opening and closing recalled her to her duties.

‘That’ll be the mistress now,’ she said hurriedly. ‘You won’t mention anything about what I’ve been telling you, will you sir? She’d say it’s all nonsense and the waste of a good egg, but I say you never know! I’d like to see the man I’m going to marry, whoever he is.’

I promised faithfully that her secret was safe with me, and was still smiling and shaking my head, like some old greybeard, over the naivety of young girls, when the parlour door opened and Mistress Perle came in.

She was a good-looking, well-built woman with a broad, handsome face marred only by the fleshiness of her nose. It needed a second, possibly a third, glance to notice the network of fine wrinkles around the blue eyes, and to realise that she was not quite as young as she at first appeared. She was, I finally decided, in her middle fifties, just the right age for Master Babcary.

‘You must be Master Chapman,’ she said taking a seat at the table and motioning me to sit opposite her. ‘Miles sent to warn me you might be arriving sometime or another, and here you are! What is it you want to know?’ She evidently intended to waste no time on the usual courtesies.

I explained as briefly as I could the circumstances and reasons for my visit while she listened attentively, not revealing by so much as the flicker of an eyelid whether or not she was already in possession of these facts. Indeed, there was something unnatural about her general stillness, although I was conscious of the uneasy clasping and unclasping of her hands, as they rested on the table-top in front of her. But when she spoke, her voice was full and steady.

‘I repeat, what is it you want to know?’

‘Can you tell me what you remember about the afternoon of Master Bonifant’s death?’

She was silent for a while, staring into space, but at last she shrugged and nodded her acquiesence.

Her account of the events leading up to the moment when Gideon died was in substance the same as that told by everyone else.

‘When they had drunk my health,’ she said, ‘they all sat down. Oh, except Isolda, of course, who left the parlour in order to go down to the kitchen. That Meg of theirs can never be trusted to do anything properly by herself.’ The small, full mouth was pursed in disapproval. ‘Why Miles doesn’t get rid of her I cannot understand. I’ve spoken to him often enough on the subject.’

‘What happened next?’ I interrupted, afraid that she was about to wander from the point.

‘Oh, the men began talking — about the new tariffs on silver imported from Poitou, I think. They wouldn’t be happy unless they’d something to grumble about. Ginèvre started telling Nell Babcary some rigmarole concerning a length of velvet she’d bought just that morning and which, when she got it home, she’d found to be flawed.’

Mistress Perle paused in order to clear her throat, so I took the opportunity to say, ‘And Gideon Bonifant was talking to Christopher, or so Master Babcary informed me. Is that correct?’

My companion considered this. ‘I don’t recall that Gideon was actually speaking to Kit. It was more. . more that he was staring fixedly at him. I remember thinking later that perhaps Master Bonifant had already begun to feel ill.’

‘Was Christopher Babcary speaking to him?’

‘He might have been,’ she answered slowly. ‘I do recollect that Kit was looking puzzled. Almost-’

‘Almost?’ I prompted.

‘Almost as if something hadn’t happened that he was expecting to happen.’ She shrugged. ‘But maybe I’m talking nonsense.’

I made no answer, but privately considered that if Mistress Perle were right, then it was possible that Christopher Babcary had put the monkshood in Gideon’s cup, or known that Isolda had done so, and had been anxiously watching his victim for the first signs of the poison taking effect.

‘Pray continue,’ I begged.

Mistress Perle shivered. ‘You must know what happened next. Miles and Kit have surely told you. You don’t need a description from me.’

‘I should like to have one, all the same.’ I added with a flattering smile, ‘Women notice so much more than men.’

‘Oh — very well. Gideon suddenly staggered to his feet, clutching his throat. He was plainly choking and, at first, I thought that some of his wine had gone down the wrong way. Then I saw that his face was turning blue. I could also see that he was trying to swallow, but couldn’t. His throat appeared to be as stiff as a board. His lips, too, because when he tried to speak, he was unable to form the words.’ She hesitated, frowning a little. ‘And yet I thought at the time that I did hear something that sounded like “aconite”.’

‘So you think he realised immediately that he’d been poisoned?’

‘Perhaps,’ she conceded. ‘He was desperately afraid, I could see that. But also-’

‘But also?’

Mistress Perle put a hand to her forehead. ‘Oh. . I don’t know! It’s difficult to explain. There was an expression on his face that I can only describe as. . as outrage. It was as if he couldn’t really believe what was happening to him.’

‘I should imagine death, particularly violent death, would make us all feel like that,’ I replied gently. ‘But please continue.’

‘What? Oh. . very well! Ginèvre told Gregory to run for the nearest apothecary. That would be Jeremiah Page in Gudrun Lane. In the doorway he almost collided with Isolda and the girl. They’d just come up from the kitchen with the food.’

‘And what did they do?’

She snorted. ‘Meg behaved exactly as you would expect her to — she screamed and dropped her tray, the stupid creature! Isolda simply stood and stared. Then Gideon — I swear I’ll never forget it as long as I live — he raised his hand and pointed at her.’ Mistress Perle gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘It was obvious what he meant. He was accusing her of his murder.’

There was silence. My companion, lost in her own thoughts, continued to clasp and unclasp her hands, while I recollected Miles Babcary’s words. ‘Mistress Perle was almost fainting in horror, and I had to give her the better part of my attention.’ It occurred to me that for someone in such a distraught condition, Barbara Perle’s memory of events was remarkably detailed, and I wondered if her distress had been assumed for her lover’s benefit, or if Master Babcary had been mistaken in the nature of her agitation. Stealing another look at her while she was still lost in her reverie, it struck me anew that she was ill at ease, and had been ever since the beginning of our conversation. I noticed that there was a film of sweat across her forehead, and the constant restlessness of her hands implied an unquiet mind. Did she have something to conceal?

I asked suddenly and loudly, ‘Who do you think murdered Gideon Bonifant, Mistress?’

She jumped and glared at me for a moment as though I was some unknown intruder. Then she answered with an unnatural vehemence, ‘Isolda of course! There’s no doubt about it! Probably aided and abetted by that cousin of hers.’

‘Do you mean Christopher Babcary?’

‘Of course I mean Christopher Babcary! Who else? I’m not likely to be talking of Nell! Although come to think of it, she’s the sort who could be persuaded into anything. She hasn’t the brains of a goose. Hasn’t Miles told you what Gideon said to him about Kit and Isolda a short time before he was murdered? Yes, he has: I can see the answer in your face. Only Miles has probably persuaded you that it’s all a lot of nonsense. He won’t listen to anything against his precious daughter. But of course she did it! Who else had such opportunity, both to obtain the monkshood and put it in the wine, as she did?’

There was a false, slightly hysterical note to Mistress Perle’s anger, as though she were trying to convince herself, more than me, of Isolda’s guilt. But I nodded as if in agreement and thanked her for her time.

‘I have to call on your neighbours now,’ I said, rising. ‘Fortunately, Mistress Napier and I have met before, so we are not total strangers.’

My hostess gave me a look of startled enquiry, and I was forced, for politeness’s sake, to repeat the story of my previous encounter with Ginèvre. It did nothing to reassure Mistress Perle, however, who appeared even more agitated than before, demanding to know if it were really necessary that I visit the Napiers. And it was not until I had made it perfectly plain that I was not to be dissuaded, that she reluctantly summoned her servant to conduct me to the door.

I followed the girl downstairs.

‘Don’t forget all you have to do tonight,’ I whispered, and left her giggling on the doorstep.

Mistress Napier was, by great good fortune, at home, and, claiming to be an old acquaintance, I was shown by the same young woman into the same downstairs parlour that I remembered from three years earlier. The red and gold painted ceiling beams were slightly more smoke-blackened than they had been then, the tapestries covering the walls were a little dustier; but the three richly carved armchairs, the fine oaken table and the corner cupboard, with its display of bowls and cups and plates all crafted in gold or silver-gilt, were exactly as memory had preserved them. The filigree pendants of the candelabra, suspended over the table, still tinkled in every draught.

Ginèvre Napier, too, was true to my recollection of her, except that time had not dealt kindly with her. The lines around the grey-green eyes were more obvious, the brown spots on the backs of her hands more numerous. The plucked eyebrows and shaven forehead only emphasised her age, just as the many gold chains encircling her neck showed up the scrawniness of her throat.

She was seated near the window, busy with a piece of embroidery, but the heavy, almond-shaped eyelids were opened to their fullest extent as I entered the room, so that she could scrutinise me better.

‘I know you,’ she said in her husky voice. ‘We’ve met before.’

‘Some time ago,’ I answered. ‘You were so gracious as to answer some questions for me about Lady Skelton and her second husband, Eudo Colet. Her two children had been murdered.’

‘Of course! Now I remember! And did you ever get at the truth of the matter? Sit down and tell me all about it.’

So, at her bidding, I pulled up one of the other armchairs and regaled her with a brief account of the events in Devon three years previously. Happily, she was not a woman given to exclamations of dismay or demands for repetition, merely remarking, when I had finished my tale, ‘Rosamund always was a fool.’ She added, looking me up and down, ‘You’ve put on weight since last we met. You have the appearance of a contented man. You had a wife and little girl, as I recall.’

‘I was in fact a widower at the time, but I’ve married again since then. I now have a stepson and another child of my own on the way.’

Ginèvre laid aside her embroidery and leant back in her chair. She regarded me from beneath the heavy, half-closed lids.

‘I do hate people who are happily married,’ she mocked. ‘They’re so horribly smug. But then, a big, virile fellow like you could keep any woman happy between the sheets, I’ll be bound.’ I felt myself beginning to blush and she laughed. ‘All right, Master Chapman, I’ll spare you further embarrassment. I know why you’re here, although until you walked in, I’d no idea that you were the same chapman whom I’d met before. Barbara Perle heard from Miles Babcary that you were asking questions about the death of Gideon Bonifant, and warned me in her turn.’ She frowned. ‘These enquiries are on behalf of the Duke of Gloucester, as I understand it. Now why on earth should His Grace be interesting himself in the matter?’

I explained and Mistress Napier sniffed derisively.

‘If you want my opinion,’ she said, ‘the man’s deluding himself if he thinks that Mistress Shore or anyone else can influence his elder brother on this score. Clarence has been making a nuisance of himself for years, and I think King Edward will now grasp any opportunity to rid himself of Duke George once and for all. However, let us return to our sheep, as our French cousins so quaintly put it. What do you want to know about Gideon Bonifant’s murder?’

‘Anything that you can tell me,’ I answered. ‘Everything that you can recall.’

Savoury smells were beginning to emanate from the Napiers’ kitchen, reminding me not only that it was nearly dinnertime, but also that I had had no breakfast that morning. My empty stomach was starting to rumble.

‘Are you hungry?’ Ginèvre asked abruptly, and when I nodded, went on, ‘Then you can eat with me.’ She picked up a small silver handbell and rang it. ‘Lay another place in the dining parlour,’ she ordered when her maid answered the summons, and rose to her feet. ‘Come along,’ she said briskly. ‘Gregory’s at the shop and won’t be home until this evening. I dislike eating alone.’

I followed her to a room at the back of the house and within easy reach of the kitchen, so that the food came hot to table, an arrangement many other households would do well to emulate.

‘We can eat while we talk,’ my hostess remarked, sitting down and indicating that I should do likewise. ‘So! You want to know anything and everything about the afternoon that Gideon Bonifant died.’

A rich pottage of beef and vegetables was set before us and Ginèvre picked up her spoon. She did not, however, immediately fall to, but sat absent-mindedly stirring the contents round and round in the bowl, obviously immersed in her own thoughts. I waited in silence. Indeed, I was so busy cramming my mouth with lumps of bread soaked in this delicious broth that I doubt if I could have spoken even if I’d tried.

Arriving at a decision, Ginèvre suddenly raised her head and looked at me across the table. I was surprised to see an ugly, vindictive twist to the thin, heavily painted lips.

‘Who have you talked to?’ she asked, and when I named them, nodded. ‘In that case, I don’t suppose there’s anything I could add about the events of that afternoon that you haven’t been told already. But something I can tell you is that, even supposing Isolda did have a lover, as Gideon claimed, she wasn’t the only one present at Barbara’s birthday feast who had a reason for wanting to dispose of Master Bonifant.’

I paused in the act of conveying yet another hunk of bread to my gaping mouth, and stared at her. ‘If you mean Christopher Babcary or Meg Spendlove,’ I began thickly, but was allowed to get no further, being interrupted by a scornful laugh.

‘Kit Babcary! And who’s Meg Spendlove, pray?’ My hostess didn’t wait for a reply, but continued, ‘No, I’m referring to my husband and the woman I foolishly, trustingly, thought was my bosom friend, Barbara Perle.’

My mind turned somersaults. ‘Are you saying that. . that Master Napier and. . and Mistress Perle were. . were-?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake don’t be so mealy-mouthed,’ Ginèvre snapped, slamming one hand down on the table so hard that her spoon jumped out of her bowl. ‘Gregory and Barbara have been lovers this past year or more.’ She yelled for her maid and, when the girl appeared, ordered her to remove the broth. ‘Bring us something we can get our teeth into,’ she said.

‘Why are you telling me this?’ I asked slowly. ‘What does it have to do with the death of Master Bonifant?’

Ginèvre laughed. ‘He found out about them. I don’t know how, and I haven’t bothered to enquire. But he had a long nose and a mean mind. He threatened to tell both Miles Babcary and me about their liaison. Liaison,’ she repeated, smiling mirthlessly. ‘What a splendid word that is. What respectability it bestows on something that is merely the adulterous humping around in a seamy, sweaty bed. However, let us once again return to our sheep. Gregory immediately told Gideon that he would confess to me himself.’ Her lip curled. ‘He knew he had little to fear. There had been too many other women in the past. They meant nothing to him, as Barbara Perle meant nothing. He’ll never leave me, nor do I wish him to. He’s a good provider. I bawled him out and called him all the names I could lay my tongue to, and that, as far as I was concerned, was the end of the matter.’

‘But it was different for Mistress Perle?’

Venison steaks, stewed in red wine and peppercorns, were set before us, and then the maid slipped quietly from the room.

‘Of course it was different for Barbara. Gideon Bonifant was threatening to tell Miles, and that would have meant the end of all her hopes to become the second Mistress Babcary.’

‘What did Gideon want? Money?’ I asked, before filling my mouth with the deliciously tender meat.

‘No. He wanted Barbara’s promise to refuse Miles’s offer of marriage, should he make one.’

I could see that such a demand made sense to a man wishing to protect his wife’s inheritance and his own place in the Babcary household. His father-in-law’s proposal to buy the house in Paternoster Row and give it to him and Isolda, generous as it was, had no appeal for Gideon. He wanted no outsider, in the shape of Barbara Perle, influencing any of Miles’s future decisions. For who could tell what he might or might not be persuaded to do if neither his daughter nor his son-in-law was present to restrain him?

‘So what course of action did Mistress Perle decide on?’ I wanted to know, as soon as I had emptied my mouth.

Ginèvre lifted her thin shoulders in a disdainful shrug. ‘She didn’t. All she could think of doing was to come bleating like a frightened sheep to Gregory. Oh yes, he told me. Once the affair was out in the open, he saw no need to keep anything a secret from me.’

‘And what was Master Napier’s solution?’

‘Oh, he could think of nothing but to offer Gideon money — a very large sum of money — to keep him quiet.’ My hostess looked as if she were about to spit. ‘I soon put a stop to that, I can assure you. I didn’t mince my words. I told Gregory that if he parted with so much as a single groat to Gideon Bonifant, I should make Miles free of the whole sordid affair.’

I thoughtfully chewed another slice of venison. ‘And that’s how matters stood last December, on Mistress Perle’s birthday?’

I understood now Mistress Perle’s vehement assertion that Isolda had murdered her husband and her apparent unease throughout our talk together. My new-found knowledge also explained her attempt to dissuade me from speaking to Ginèvre. She had rightly been afraid that her friend, in a moment of pique and spite, would reveal to me the truth about herself and Gregory Napier.

‘So you see’ — my hostess was speaking again — ‘Barbara had quite as good a reason as either Kit Babcary or Isolda to wish for Gideon’s death.’

‘And so had you,’ I thought, but did not say so aloud.

Nevertheless, there was a possibility that Ginèvre might have come to the conclusion that Gideon was better dead than alive. Perhaps Gregory had, after all, decided to defy her and made up his mind that he would try to buy the blackmailer’s silence. She was astute enough to realise that if Gideon agreed, it could result in far more than a single payment, and I guessed that she was too proud a woman to put an end to such a situation by blabbing all to Miles Babcary. Furthermore, it was extremely likely that her husband had already confided to her Gideon’s accusation against his wife and Christopher; an accusation that would immediately point the finger of suspicion at Isolda, leaving everyone else as seemingly innocent bystanders.

But if Gregory or Ginèvre Napier or Barbara Perle was the murderer, where had they obtained the monkshood? But of course the answer to that was simple. From the same source as Miles Babcary: a liniment for aches and pains procured from Jeremiah Page of Gudrun Lane.